Affirmations
by RabulaTasa
Summary: I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, chicks dig the pointy ears.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Teen Titans.

**Author's Note**: Raise your hand if you got the joke. Thank you. Also, I was tempted to throw in "I rock at summaries."

_I don't know what I'm doing. They're gonna cancel the show. I'm gonna die homeless and penniless and twenty pounds overweight._

-Stuart Smalley

* * *

**From the Audio Diaries of Garfield Mark Logan A.K.A. "Beast Boy"**

… _A.K.A. "Grass Stain," A.K.A. "Salad Head," A.K.A. "Viridian Vexation," A.K.A. "Emerald Exasperation," A.K.A.… You Get the Idea_

So, um, obviously this is me… Beast Boy… as if you couldn't tell from me just having said it. If you're not one of the Titans and you're listening to this: turn it the hell off. Seriously, I can _eat you_. Of course, if you're like me, you're going to ignore that warning, so I might as well inform you of another useful and important fact thingy: _this is totally not my idea_. If you couldn't tell from one of my A.K.A. things calling me "Beast BOY," I'm a dude. Totally a dude. 100% Grade A Man. And as everyone knows, men don't have "innermost feelings." At least, they—I mean "we"—don't admit to having them unless we're watching "Lonesome Dove."

The important thing is: I'm just following orders, so there's not going to be anything interesting to listen to. You might as well turn this off and go play a video game. Somewhere far away. Don't forget to destroy this tape on your way there.

Of course, there's the chance that you _are_ a Titan and are listening to this, in which case I have a message for you: Cyborg, I'm going to kill you, then resusitimate… no, wait, that's not the right word. Where's my dictionary…

Yeah, that's right: I have a _dictionary_. It was Rae's first birthday present to me when we started the team. She said I'd do margarinely better in life if I "sounded like an idiot because of what you"—that's me—"say, and not because you're"—me again—"making up words out of whole cloth."

Ah, here we are: "resuscitation—the preservation or restoration of life by the establishment and/or maintenance of airway, breathing and circulation." So Cyborg, if you don't stop listening to this _right now_, I'm going to kill you, resuscitationize you, then kill you again. And if you're _not_ Cyborg, then… oh, let's see… Robin: I'll tell Starfire why we sniggered when you said your name was "Dick;" Starfire: I think Silkie would enjoy eating this tape right about now; and Raven… well, if _you're_ listening to this I'm pretty… um… what am I allowed to say instead of "fucked?" Shit! I didn't say that! I mean "shoot!" Damn it! Darn it! I said "darn!"

If you're Raven, I'd really appreciate it if you would, you know, go back about twenty seconds in time and skip forward to this point. Or better yet, burn this thing.

Okay, so where was I? Oh, right. This is totally _Robin's Fault_. You see, the Boy Blunder—that never gets old—thought it would be good for the team in some way if we expressed our quote unquote "inner monologue" in some way that could be easily used by Cyborg for blackmail purposes. Okay, so he didn't say that last part, but he might as well have. I mean, come on! This is what we expert criminologists like to call "leaving evidence behind." Besides, I say that Raven had a valid—if not mildly insulting—point when she said that I already did this in public in the form of "verbal diarrhea."

And she gets on my case for cursing. I mean, at least the F-word describes a _perfectly natural_—and from what I hear on the internet, pretty fun—act between at least two consenting adults and/or barnyard animals. But "verbal diarrhea?" You try telling me that shitting from your mouth is natural.

Uh, I mean, "pooping." Mouth poop. Ick.

Anyway, here I am, talking to my reflection in a mirror and feeling kinda like an idiot. Rae would say that's perfectly natural, and if I weren't still moderately terrified of her I'd respond with "at least I don't feel crazy, since _my_ mirrors don't talk back."

It's not that I'm really afraid she'll _hit_ me or anything. It's not that she _won't_, but more that she does so recreationally more so than anything, and not really all that hard—Cyborg used to call them "love taps" when she was out of hearing, until Starfire overheard him use the term and thought it was customary for Earthlings to give out "the taps of love" to their loved ones. That was a bad day. The next day made up for it, though, when Raven found out where Star had picked up the term.

Yeah, so maybe the fact that my relationship with Raven can be described with phrases like "recreational violence" and "moderately terrified" is a decent indicator that it's not the most healthy of relationships… but that's okay, because to be completely honest, I usually do something brilliant to deserve it. Also, the chase is… oddly quite stress-relieving. I'm never really sure how hard she's trying to catch me, because—despite what she says while she's hunting me down—she looks like she's enjoying herself.

Also, I might be completely incapable of resisting the temptation to jump out of small hiding places and scare the bejeezus out of her. Just throwing that in there.

Alright, that was about five minutes of my life that I'll never get back. I'm off to do something productive, like working on my world record belch. I can already recite half of the Gettysburg Address in one go!

And Raven says I'm ignorant.

* * *

**Author's Note**: There will probably be more diaries, of similarly insufficient length. If you're lucky, I won't do Cyborg's in binary.


End file.
